Broken Arrow
by Black Waltz 0 And meteor9
Summary: The seas of Runescape are restless, plagued by a pirate scourge that no landlubber dares to rise up against, and led by a pirate queen. But when one tries, will it be her downfall, or her personal salvation?


Broken Arrow

A Runescape Fanfiction By

Black Waltz 0 (Bw 0)

&

meteor9 (Reiyu Onin)

BW's A/N: I get to begin the fic. This is a small little tale of adventures on the high seas, treasure hunting and swordfighting, roaring oceans and baleful storms, all localized in a cute little MMORPG. Well, I was having fun when I wrote this prologue. The next chapter will be coming your way from my writing partner, Mr. meteor9! If you like this chapter, just wait for the next!

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Night. The sky smelt of dark baleful rain clouds, smothering a black toxic ocean. All was quiet on the deck of the Lord's Prayer, the creaking lurches of the ship's hull and the faint shriek of the wind the only companion to the crew member stuffed into the crow's nest, exposed to the elements of the sea. When midnight would hit his shift would end and he could look forward to the welcoming heat of the sleeping quarters in the ship's cabin, but that was still an hour or so away and the rain stung his eyes maliciously, as if to remind him of such facts. It was impossible to discern their direction in this weather, yet it was not the lookout's job to try, all he needed to do was keep his eyes peeled for anything bad that could affect the welfare of their ship.

Down below the helmsman would be steering, even in this dead of night. They were heading west, along the cape and past the gargantuan tropical island that savages called their home, to a particularly civil city that anticipated their arrival. It had been three days since they had set off from the docks. The Lord's Prayer was a fine freighter vessel, thick and sturdy, though not relatively new, she had seen enough of the sea to be wizened by it, but not damaged by it. She was in the peak of her seafaring life span. Her deck was far below the crows nest, blurred by sea spray and the general lack of lamplight. Most of the crew was sleeping, so it would be ludicrous to waste a candle here and now. The crew member half-heartedly wished for a light now, it would have made this landscape of dark blues and grays much easier to tolerate.

The ship bent faintly to the side as a strong wave nudged at her wooden hull, causing the crows nest to tip and sway in the air, like the supporting mast had been made of rubber. The crew member gulped and clung to the rill around his little enclosure, mistaking the dull 'thunk' he had heard to be merely the sound of blood rushing through his temples. The water supported the ship and pushed it upright again, attaining balance once more. It was times like these that made the crew member glad that he rarely got seasick. Losing his dinner in such a high up place would make a mighty fine mess for somebody to clean up in the morning.

Grimacing, he let go of his hold on the balcony and kicked a metal catch up that was set on the floor, causing the trap door to spring open. It lead to a series of rungs nailed into the face of the mast, a ladder that would carry him back down to the deck. He was not abandoning his post _per se_, merely taking five minutes off to squelch his way into the supply room and liberate himself an oil lantern, he just couldn't take this wet darkness anymore, even if there was only an hour left of duty to go. If he had to replace the oil in the lantern later, then fine, so be it. He was sure that somebody else on the ship would sell him some for a nice low price. Nobody would know the difference. And five minutes was only five minutes, he'd be back in the crow's nest in half-a-jiffy.

The metal rungs were slippery but he was still able to keep his grip, reminding himself that no matter _what_ he did, he was to under no circumstances look down whilst climbing up or down the mast. Seasoned seaman or not, the vertigo would probably overtake him. He used extra care this time around at climbing down, not just because of the rain and fairly strong winds, but because he couldn't shake the feeling that something felt wrong tonight, just like the way one can feel electricity in the air when a thunderstorm is coming.

Yet when he set his feet on the ground, nothing bad happened. The feeling of stronger planks of wood beneath his feet and a wider berth to navigate from soothed his jangled nerves somewhat and he looked around the area. A warm light came from the windows of the ship's cabin, most of the crew inside probably sleeping, drinking, telling tales and swapping stories, to the music of Mangled Pete's accordion. The window looked so warm and comfortable, and the crew member told himself that in less than an hour he'd be in there soon, stripping off his wet clothes and putting on his dry long johns, maybe gamble for a bit and then go to sleep. That was for later. Right now the crow's nest needed a light.

It really was too dark to see where he was going, but he knew his way around the ship pretty well and reached the supply room easily, nearly tripping over a coil of rope that was set neatly against the door of the cabin, pushed away once he swung the door open. Whatever light was left on the ship reflected in the glass of a small oil lantern left sitting on the table, the crew member lighting it with a match that he had somehow managed to keep dry. An orange glow swelled up and lit up the room, the crew member could now see that his hands were trembling from the cold. No matter, he was used to the cold, and when he picked up the lantern, the metal frame slowly began to warm up his hands.

He stepped outside and closed the door. The tiny flame was protected from the spotting rain by the glass around it, but the crew member held his hand out to check the rain, the drops had been growing smaller, but becoming more numerous in number. Was this a good thing or a bad thing? He couldn't remember which. When he exhaled, he could see his own breath fog up in the air. The helmsman had told him the other night that the fog escaping his mouth was part of his hell-bound soul trying to escape and they had all had a good laugh about it. The helmsman was quite a religious fellow, he wondered if he was still out here in the rain, steering the Lord's Prayer faultlessly?

He thudded his way over to the helm, his boots made heavy footfalls and he didn't attempt to cover them up. He was a big man and couldn't help it, really. Squinting into the darkness and holding his lantern aloft, he shone the light in the direction of the steering helm.

It was unmanned, and there was a formless lump beneath it. It looked like a ragged pile of clothes with a pool of weakening red fluid beneath it. The rain was beginning to wash all the blood away.

"Oh sh-" He stepped backwards and the oil lamp fell from his hands, striking the deck and shattering, splattering flammable oil all over the wooden boards. The wick was flung from its place and landed in the stain, catching alight. Suddenly the whole puddle was on fire and eating away at the burning deck. But that was not the most prominent thing that the crew member noticed right after he had found the helmsman, full of arrows and shot dead. Oh no…

Somebody was standing _behind _him.

He backed up against somebody wearing armor. It felt cold and slicked with water. He wanted to turn around, but found himself unable to, unable to even imagine or consider what kind of person had snuck up behind him in the dead of night. He refused that idea, not believing in it one bit. Then, a sword was pressed against his neck, the edge honed and sharp, minutely serrated. It stood out from the bluish water and sky, dull red in a dull night. Like dried blood.

The intruder smiled behind him. "Gotcha." It whispered, then cut his throat.

†††

The Lord's Prayer was found days later, after it had missed its freighter's deadline. The sails had been slashed to ribbons, the decking scorched, its cargo missing. All the members of the crew were similarly missing, taken by an unknown force, or simply murdered and thrown into the sea.

This was not the first time, and certainly not the last time that this would happen.

The Desbat Pirates had struck again.

†††

__

One week later…

"I don't like it, not one bit!" Shouted the loud red-haired adventurer, slamming her fist down upon the large oaken table. The man in the white robe and beard flinched away from the startling noise, laying a steadying hand upon his ale in the chances that it might get knocked over. Scowling, the adventurer folded her arms and leant them against the table, glaring haughtily to the left.

"Err… What don't you like, BW?" Asked the seer reluctantly, smiling a timid, peaceful smile. He had sort of tuned-out of all the conversation in the tavern once BW had entered it, picking up with his sixth sense a black aura enveloping the girl and knowing that all she was going to do in this inn was bitch, complain and probably break something during the end. The adventurers that traveled through the Seer's Village to get to Ardnouge did increasingly more of the latter, as time went by. It was a sign of the times.

"Damn it, old man, weren't you listening to a _word_ that I was saying? Geez…" BW leaned over the table and pushed up with her arms, standing up from out of her seat. The seer submissively looked away from her gaze, but then realized that he was looking down her shirt and then skillfully darted his eyes away. Luckily nobody noticed this. "The freighters, those ships that deliver stock to places like Port Sarim, Relekka, Karamja, Brimhaven and Ardnouge, all those other shitty places keep on getting boarded by pirates and looted, sometimes sunk. My fish, my wares, that stuff is being sunk to goddamn Davey Jones' locker along with those boats. Cooked and dead fish won't swim again, I'm afraid."

"So… why not use another method of transportation?" The seer dared to suggest to her. "By air, or foot, possibly by magic?" He watched BW sit back down and rub at her temple, as if she was developing a very minor headache. Her ironic smile seemed to suggest that his few ideas were stupid ones at best. This discouraged him a lot, because seers were revered for their vast wisdom, and although he was a relatively young seer compared to the others, he considered himself learned in the ways of the world.

"I thought about that a bit myself." She replied. "The gnomes won't lend humans their flying technology without us being like their king's best friend or something, and I think it would be an overly hard task to accomplish anything like that. Traveling by land takes too long, by the time my fish gets to where it needs to go, the meat has expired and gone off already. People won't pay for fish that isn't fresh. Magic…" BW seemed thoughtful for a short while, as if rethinking her opinion on the subject, but then shook her head and remained firm.

She stuck her arm out, her hand curled into a loose fist. The seer shrunk away from the unusual action, while around them the bustle and conversations in the tavern did not linger. She had almost knocked over his pint of greenman's ale. "What is it?" The seer asked, looking at the adventurer's white-sleeved arm confusedly.

"Smell."

"Huh?"

"Just smell." BW commanded assuredly. Awkwardly, the seer leant forward and sniffed the red-haired girl's shirt-sleeve. A wafting scent of rich cinnamon assaulted his sense, the smell of magic, alchemy, and the arcane. BW withdrew her arm and folded it onto the table in front of her. "Yeah, that's right." She said to the seer's unspoken assumption. "I'm hardly the most powerful magic-user in the world, but I've teleported myself enough times to get this magical stink all over me, though it really isn't that bad once you get used to it. I smell like a magical bakery."

"Ah, I see what you're getting at now." Grinned the old man. "You're afraid that if you were to teleport your fish to the locations that they are meant to be sent to, they would lose their fishy smell and not seem fresh to your buyers? That they would smell of magic just as you do right now?"

"Very astute, future seeing man." BW confirmed with a nod. "The only way my fish are gonna be able to get sold is for them to travel by boat and absorb the salty sea air. But that ain't gonna happen as long as these bloody pirates are around. Why'd they turn up now? Why are they attacking the ships with all my fish on board? I have no idea. I know that food is an important necessity, but I doubt pirates are going to such lengths to get to it, to _kill_ for it. It just… makes no sense." She picked up a napkin and began to fold it into some semblance of a little boat, then placed it on the table, looking at it as if it was the hardest puzzle in the world.

The seer looked out the window. A large chompy was waiting outside, tied to a tethering post. Some bags and parcels were strapped to its feathered side. It looked bored, but not discontent. "Is that bird a friend of yours?" He asked the adventurer, who was now pushing the paper boat around on the table like its wooden surface was a sturdy ocean. She had stuck a toothpick into the top and had twisted a shred of napkin around it to make it look like sail, or a white flag. In her frustrated thought, she had put some olives into the boat to substitute as people.

"Oh, that bird? I got him the other week from some ogres. I think I'll call him Choco." Came the reply, seemingly distant from the midst of different thought.

"Choco? Is that short for anything?"

"No, he just likes chocolate. He's good for carrying stuff." BW stood up, leaving some money on the table, to pay for her drink. "I'd better go. I'll miss my boat in the next town if I stay here for too long. It leaves at the crack of dawn tomorrow." Having an idea, she added; "Hey, Paul? Mind if I ask you a question? You seers are supposed to be able to see the future, so what do you see in the way of mine?"

Paul the seer shook his head. "You know I haven't the foggiest idea. I don't have the gift, or I haven't developed it just yet. Maybe someday, but not right now. But there is one thing I can tell you." He looked up at BW with a stern gaze. "Whole boatloads of hardened seamen are being slaughtered. If you go and do something foolish all by yourself you're going to be slaughtered along with them. Pirates may just be rabble, but what we're seeing going on here-" He pointed to the paper boat, made from the headlines of today's news, "Is _organised_ rabble. That's far more dangerous than what you may think."

BW looked a little put-down by the news, but stood firm in her decision. "You seem to forget that I'm not alone. I've got Choco with me, after all. It's not the best cavalry, but it's a cavalry nevertheless. I've got to do something to change this or nobody else will, or nobody that I'm confident will succeed. Don't worry about it, I've gone up against tougher foes than this. You'll probably see me back here again next month, and I'll be richer for it."

"Well, here. Take this." And Paul put something down on the table. It was small, red and circular, with a spun flax wick coming out from its side. "I don't know if this will be useful or not, but I had it in my pocket, so you'd better take it. It was probably the Gods doing that I had this on me at this time." He smiled. "It's a bomb. Not a powerful bomb, but it will make noise."

She picked it up from the table and shoved it into her pocket. "Magic-users sure like their big booming things, don't they?" She accused softly. "So do I. Thanks." On those words, she strode out of the tavern, over to the tied-up chompy. She undid the rope it was attached to and led it away, in the general direction of the town of Catherby, following the road.

When this particular seer would ever see her again, she would be eternally changed.


End file.
